


Disturbia (English Version)

by LouHazz



Series: World Nation Trilogy [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, Love Stories, M/M, Revolution, War, Yaoi, dictature, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouHazz/pseuds/LouHazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Countries do not exist anymore. All the different Nations are annihilated and melted into one : World Nation.</p><p>World Nation is composed with different Territories, each divided in 9 Spheres. The Spheres order reprensent the "value" of the citizens living in it. Sphere 1, for exemple, is occupied by the Men and Women that are the most talented, intelligent, beautifull, and physicaly able. The lower the Sphere get, the les the citizens have those abilities.</p><p>Each citizen lives and studies in his parent's Sphere untill he takes his First Evaluation, on January the 1st of his 16th year. The classes organisation occurs at that moment. A student can not go up nor down of more than 3 Spheres.</p><p>On January the 1st of their 18th year, each citizen have his Second Evaluation that leads him towards superior studies fitting his aptitudes.</p><p>On January the 1st of their 21st year, each citizen have his Third Evaluation after which each Man will have three Women presented to him. He will then choose the one that will be his spouse and partner.</p><p>Albion stands for London and its suburbs.</p><p>Welcome to World Nation. Father chose YOU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Louis

**Here, everything is clean.** I have never step foot out of the Sphere 1 but I have seen photographs in my Albion History lessons. I always felt ridicuslously proud to live in Albion when I was seeing comparisons between our Under Spheres and the ones in Kemet. Over there, even the Sphere 1 looks like a dump. I guess I should feel lucky to live here, but my father always says that luck doesn't exist and that everything is due to people who cares. Of course men are not equals. Otherwise, why would we need Spheres ? If we were all the same in birth, at the very begining, with the same rights, we will all be living together. Some are born with less aptitudes than others and that is the way it is. Life is unfair, and it is certainly not my fault. It is less unfair than before anyway, according to what the Books say. My heelpieces hit the thick glass ground. Under my foot, the Thames rumbles, pure and clear. The other day, in Beauty Study class, I heard Harry Styles talking to Stuart Baker. I was telling one of his ridiculous tales again. One day, he will end up having problems, I was sure of it. But Harry Styles was never in trouble. A kid from Sphere 4 dropped among us like a miracle after his First Evaluation. And brilliant he was, of course. When I heard he managed to get the Central Administration and Gestion in Second Evaluation, I cried. I remember going home with red eyes, still sobbing after learning that this year again, and for the three next ones, I will have to cope with the presence of this less than nothing, this opportunist whose father was cleaning the shit out of the streets of Sphere 4. At home, I thought they would approuve me. This was exactly what happened, in a way, but not like I hoped. Nobody felt pity for me, quite the opposite. Clayton, my older brother, the first of my three brothers, was furious. Furious to see me cry like a little girl, to see me moan without thinking for a second about my position. « You are Troy Austin's son. If that Harry Styles scumbag surpass you for even one second, I will personnally put you back on the right way, you hear me ? Don't bring shame on your family. You have to work, and work more after that, and you have to be the best. » I immediatly stopped crying, because Clayton's look made me feel so ashamed. Of course he was right. I was not allowed to complain about those things if I had not try my best to do better. And once I will have tried, I will not have any more reason to moan. I was in every point supperior to Harry Styles, and I will always be.

Harry Styles is a rowdy boy. He talks a lot, and he speaks badly. Everytime he opens his mouth, like this one time in Beauty Study, he says inanities that this Stuart Baker idiot hastens to swallow. If the Thames rumbles that much under the glass floor of Isis Avenue, it is because it should not be that narrow, nor that clean. The Thames is a sick and dirty river, the beating heart of London. Harry Styles is one of the very rare person to talk about Albion saying London. According to him, after the Opening, London was a cosmopolitan and eclectic city. It was a place of beauty, as he says. But the only beauty that exist, and deserves to exist is Father's. But that, Harry Styles refuses to understand and prides himself everyday on knowing things we ignore. I hate injustice. I do not care to know how the people in the Under Spheres are living, nothing about that is injust. But seeing Harry Styles preaching the Lies, the Taboos, talking about before the Opening like a glourious time, without nobody moving the slighest of a finger to make him shut up makes me so mad. Maybe it is just because they do not hear him. But I do. I always do, and it makes me so angry all the time. Oliver keeps saying that I should not mind it, that things will change because Father is just. But for three years, Harry Styles has been parading and nothing changes. He still the cherished child, the mothers turn around in the streets when he walks by, and everyone sees in him the mark of Father's kindness. Everyone deserves a chance, no matter where they come from. Harry Styles is already promised with a brilliant future in the High Spheres of our society when he doesn't even respect it. My whole family had to fight to get where we are now and as my father likes to say, we did not won our posistion and our appartement on the Isis Avenue by being good at basket ball. My father still thinks Harry Styles entered St Michael thanks to his basket ball abilities. He never realised Harry Styles is brilliant in everything he does, and that it is exactly my problem. If he talks oto much, he never looses an oportunity to give the good answers in class, no matter what lesson we are in. Ironically, he is particularly good in Beauty Study. Harry Styles says he listened to the Forbiden Musics, read the Bannished Books and saw the Subversives Pieces. He was telling Stuart Baker, one day, hidding behind the gymnasium, smoking one of those disguting cigarets he probably stole from his good for nothing of a father. Nobody ever saw, nor read, nor heard those things because they never existed. It is a legend that the Rebels made up to make gulible people like Harry Styles believe that things were better before the Opening. Stuart Baker is too stupid to ask himself the good questions and I never understood why he even is in Sphere 1 in the first place. His First Evaluation should have sent him at the bottom of Sphere 4 for good. No, really, I can't stand injustice nor lie.

It is still early and the Propanga Gestion room is nearly empty. We are not numerous taking this class reserved for the elite of the elite. In a corner, Mona Flemming, the only girl in this lesson, is already scribbling on her notebook. Mona Flemming is beautiful, sporty, and clever. Everyone in Sphere 1 knows her and wonders who she will be ascribe to after the Third Evaluations. A lot think of Harry Styles obviously. Clayton keeps saying that she better be an Austin, always giving me a heavy with insinuation look. If Mona Flemming was ascribe to me, I wouldn't know what to do with her. But I still have plenty of time and a lot of Living Art lessons to understand how Women work. At 19, none of us really have notions about those kind of things. It does not matter, it woul no't be usefull anyway as Men and Women hardly see each other before their Presentation. Men know their mothers, and their sisters and conversely. The only time I saw a naked Woman body, it was during the first Living Art lesson. I was 15, and those rounded figures and this hairless skin frightened me. Oliver said it was normal and things were going to change, time helping. That I was going to learn to understand and to like it. Even myself, looking at my naked body in the mirror of my bedroom, I have trouble understanding the interest of a naked body. The unvarying color, the muscles that never show, never, no matter what I do. My brothers would make fun of me if they knew, but even the sight of my crotch makes me incomfortable. This flabby piece of flesh that I'm suppose to worship, symbol of our superiority on Women and our manliness. I have a hard time imagining that this protuberance will one day give life to a human being that will look like me. A new Man or Woman of the Nation. Harry Styles has broad shoulders and abdominal muscles. Every nights, after training, I envy that body that I would want to make mine.

I had that dream again last night. It became such an obsessive fear. Every night, before I go to bed, I wish I had a god to pray so it would not happen. So I think about Father, and I silently formulate this stupid, senseless request, that He helps me pass this night again. But it is my fight. It is me that needs to eradiquates those sick thoughts out of my mind. I do not have the weapons to do it yet, but I have faith in Father and his education. That night again, I could not do it. They are dozens looking at me, entirely naked in this empy room with subdue lights. They are all standing in front of me and my heart beats so fast with fear and anxiety. Their looks aimed at my nudity are bloodcurdling. I would like to run away, but there is no way out, anywhere. On the walls, giant screens display with white letters on a black backdrop « You Are The Elite Of The Nation. » The text pass before my eyes and frightens me even more than those men with their erected sex. Then, a whisper arises among them. I see them moving aside to one man, a man with prominent muscles and bright green eyes. Harry Styles faces me soon, in the total nudity that does not scare me that much anymore. Fear has gone and my heart is calmer now. Down my stomack, the warmth is as surprising as nice. Harry Styles smiles at me and the looks of the other men do not count anymore. On the wall, the text is gone. Then, reasured, freed of all my fears, I kneel before Harry Styles imposant and delicious stature while he slips a hand on my neck. The second my knees touch the ground, I wake up with a start, with my body soaked with sweat and my crotch painfull. One night, I even smeared the sheets. I circled in my room, panicking for an jour before I finally decided to wake Oliver up. My brother rassured me a little. « It's okay, Louis. You're growing up and your body is reacting. » Oliver changed the sheets silently, made me promise not to tell anyone. « Go back to sleep, Louis, everything is fine. Close your eyes and stop thinking about Mona. » he added with a wink. I smiled back and went back to bed. Thinking about Mona Flemming helped me a lot, in the contrary. I had a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

I settle down as far as possible from Mona Flemming and open my back to start unpacking my stuff. Professor Stout is not here yet but he is always late anyway. The room fills up little by little. James Parson, Nicholas Roberston, Lance Harris. They are part of the elite of the elite, too. None of them scare me. I know that after our Third Evaluation, I will have a more beautiful, cleverer, and in better physical shape mate. I know that after our Third Evaluation, they will be my employees. Harry Styles finally enters the room too, and neglectly fall in the seat next to mine. I ignore him with all the disdain I am capable of.

« Oi, Austin ! »

I turn my eyes to him and his look hits me hard. I look closely at the four stripes on his uniforme symbolising the Sphere 4. My father's words resonate in my head. « We never really leave the Sphere you were born in. » Harry Styles will never really be one of us, nevermind his excellent grades nor his incredible physical aptitudes. His shirt is not close to the top and makes him look even more dishevelled than his messy hair. Once again, I ask myself about the total lack of correction he gets.

« You weren't in training yesterday.  
\- I had things to do.  
\- A patrol with your lovely brother ? I heard they shooted last night. »

Harry Styles never loses an opportunity to show he knows everything. Last night, Clayton had a lot of work with the Milice. He called this morning during breakfast to tell my father how great and strong he was to stop the Rebels who tried to break in Sphere 2. Clayton is always great and strong against the Rebels. My father says that one day, he might even join Father's HQ in the North. I do not believe it for a second. Clayton is not classy enough to work in the North. His ways are violent and heavy. When Oliver will be taking his place, the Milice will change. It will be more efficient, faster. Smarter than the Rebels. I am sure that Oliver would be capable of dismantling the Resistance in a matter of month, but Clayton was here before him, and Oliver will have to wait for Clayton's big mistake that will take him down to take his place.

« No.  
\- Do you know what happened ? I can tell you if you want.  
\- No, thank you.  
\- Not so chatty today, Austin.  
\- Not with you, never. »

I want to take my stuff and go sit somewhere else. Callum Duke has arrived and sat on the front. Callum is my only friend. I wish I could go and join him, but I refuse to let Harry Styles believe he owns the place. For once, Clayton was right. That scumbag from Sphere 4 has nothing to do here. I am better than he is, and I will always be.

« Nevermind. I have loads of things to teach you. Such a shame.  
\- I have nothing to learn from someone like you.  
\- Oh, you're so wrong. »

Professor Stout slams the door entering the room and walks to the platform in a massive boot's noise. When he was younger, Stout was Head of the Milice too. My father always talks about those times like the best the Nation ever knew. The Rebels were almost gone, or were particularly discreet in order to avoid torture seances and public executions that made Stout so famous. When he was moved to the Information Departement, Terrence Elder took his place and totally anihilate the progress made under Stout. The Rebels took back their HQs and Resistance almost won over the whole Sphere 9. They say that Father himself came to Albion and repression was severe. Terrence Elder was publicly executed as an exemple and Father himself chose the new Head of Milice. One of his own man from the North. I was 3 years old. I still remember the joyfull shouts in the streets when Terrence Elder was hanged. On the jumbotrons, he was swinging, his hands tied behing his back, and an extatic smile on his face. When I asked my mother why he looked so happy, she told me that Father freed him from his misery. I could not understand for a long time. Now, I know, and every night, I beg Father to free me from my misery.

« Do you have a pen for me ?  
\- No. »

Harry Styles sights heavily and lets himself fall on the table that wobble. Stout's look is ice cold. 

« Something wrong, Styles ?  
\- I do not have a pen, sir, I must have forgotten my case this morning when I left home.  
\- Austin, give him your pen. »

My face turns red with anger and shame and I give my pen to Harry Styles without a word. He grabs it in silence. In front of me, Callum turned around and looks at me with sorry eyes. I grit my teeth. I am Troy Austin's son. They except me to be strong and straight. I hold Stout gaze until he goes back to scribbling on the blackboard. He is testing me. They all are. I will be smarter than them and soon enough, Styles will be just a bad memory I will sent out for coffee from my office in the major tower of Information Departement.

For the next lesson, I sit next to Callum and do not even look at Harry Styles. In the massive auditorium, students from the other classes are converging from everywhere. On one side, all the girls are sitting and none of them dares to sit next to Mona Flemming. Just like if they were aware that her beauty will make them look even more insipid. Callum hands me another pen without a word. Immediatly, I write down what I can remember from the previous lesson. I do not ask Callum for his notes. He might be my only friend, I do not want him to imagine for one second that he could be better than me. After all, his shirt has two stripes. Mrs Hamilton and Professor Dawkins enter the room and silence finally fall. Well, amost. Two rows behind me, I can hear Stuart Baker giggling to Harry Styles jokes. I hold back the wave of anger in me and focuse on the slides that are already passing before our eyes. The lesson of Living Art today will be about household jobs that suit better for Men and Women. I already know all of this by heart. I have read Oliver's lessons on the subject last year, when I was asking myself too many questions. He refused to let me read the lessons about his last year, obviously. « One thing at a time » he said. After covering two pages about the Propaganda Gestion lesson, I focus on Mrs Hamilton's voice, explaining essentials tasks in a Nation's couple's everyday life. She makes distinctions between all the Spheres, underlining again that we are the Elite of the Nation and that we do not have the same responsabilities than couples from the Under Spheres. All of that is so boringly obvious that I could just fell asleep. But my behavior has to be exemplary and I will not give in to temptation like Harry Styles would. I listen carefully to the rules the teachers are dictating, even taking notes sometimes. Next to me, Callum is writing at full speed, greedy for informations. Of course, in his home, things are different. Even if his mother is working just like mine, she does not have the same excellence job. Thanks to his results after his First Evalutation, Callum will have a more beautiful and more interessting partner than he would have had staying in Sphere 2 like his parents and his younger sister. I remember this conversation we had one day, when he explained all the things his parents did not know and made him feel so ashamed. He revealed to me he could not wait for his Third Evaluation to come and live in Sphere 1. Nothing will make him feel more satisfied than burning that Access Card he was keeping like a relic and that allowed him to come and go out of the Sphere 1 every day. He would burn his uniform with two stripes that made him so clearly different of me. His children will never know about their grandparents. « I want to start all over again, and forget where I came from. I'm not here thanks to them. » I strongly approved. Callum deserved his spot in the Sphere 1. He proved it several times already, and even if he would never be able to claim a director's position, he could be proud of what he became. Unlike Harry Styles. Professor Dawkins is now explaining why it is preferable that Women are the one taking care of young children. I sight heavily, praying for the bell to ring soon enough.

I walk fast to reach the gymnasium in the middle of St Michael. After a whole morning seating on the wooden seats of the auditoriums, Physical Development class will be a blessing. Behind me, I can hear someone scampering along. I see Callum's back disapearing in the building and I can not help to wonder who wants to talk to me. I turn around swiftly and end up facing right onto Harry Styles. Him again. Always him. While I do my best to run away from him like plague, he is always by my side.

« Austin !  
\- What do you want ?  
\- I... I'm sorry about earlier, Louis. »

I don't know what to say. Another one of his schemes to mock me, to make Stuart Baker laugh the following day in Arithmetic class. But he called me Louis. Nobody, besides my family, calls me Louis. I feel like hitting him in the face, but starting a fight would strongly displease my father. Espacially if I am fighting Harry Styles. « You don't have anything better to do than lower yourself to his level ? » he would say. I bite my tongue and turn around without looking at him. He follows me silently and I enter the gymnasium to run into the lockers room. Our sport uniforms look just like the Milice's ones, except for the star insignia sewn on the chest. After I quickly change my clothes, I join Callum and the rest of my classmates for the lesson. The draft is made the Milice's way, with our ID numbers and I end up to team with James Parson. Harry Styles is designated to team up with Mona Flemming, the only girl of the departement. To my mind, that is not General Cooper best move. If there is on person to keep away from anything that looks like a Woman, it is Harry Styles. He probably is the only person in St Michael to know more about the subject than the rest of us. In Sphere 4, they have no restrain. They probably just fornicate all they want after their First Evaluation. Studying in Sphere 1 probably does not change his filfthy habits. My father always says it is rare for children of the Under Sphere to enter the Sphere 1, and that is probably because of their deviances and the bastards they created without any control. The only time he talked about Sphere 9, he said they even copulate between brothers and sisters. I have never left the Sphere 1 and the Abion History classes say otherwise, but my father never lies. He hates lies as much as I do, I know it. I never dared to ask Callum, because I know that coming from an Under Sphere makes him feel so ashamed he does not want to talk about it much. I know Harry Styles does not have a sister, because his mother left when he was a baby. It is about the only thing I know about him. He his already telling Mona Flemming some of his stupid jokes and she is giggling like a little goose. Anger rises in me again and I can not wait to start training so I can evacuate all that. If Harry Styles ends up with Mona Flemming after our Third Evaluation, I will never get over it. I would like to talk to General Cooper, to tell him he should change the pairings and let me work with Mona Flemming today, but I refuse to seem like a cry baby. Plus, it could be considerate as inapropriate behavior. I grit my teeth and put on my harness. The wall in front of me is huge. I can not wait to see if Harry Styles will be having that much fun when I will be up there, only belayed by a young lady that weights half than his weight. With a sneeky smile, I grab the first hold and start to climb. I do not make any effort. I am light, my muscles are dry and fast, and I easily reach the middle of the climbing wall. I reach for the next hold when my fingers encounter Harry Styles' hot skin. He reached for the same hold at the same time. I imagined he would still be far under me. I did not care about anything during my whole climb, too concentrated on the tiny grips on the path. I move my hand away like I burned myself and jump. My foot slips. I am falling and it does not stop until the last snap hook I hanged. My back hits the wall and I hold back a scream. Above me, Harry Styles glances me a look. I grint my teeth. Fuck him, I will reach the top before him. James Parson asks me if I am okay. I do not answer him and keep on climbing. My arms hurt, my muscles are burning under my skin. I climb without even realising what I am doing and catch up with Harry Styles in a matter of seconds. I keep on like that, without even glancing at him. When I reach the top of the wall, a wave of pride rushes through me. I let myself fall in my harness and try to catch my breath before I go back down. Once my feet hit the ground, James Parson gets ready to climb and General Cooper looks at me proudly. I feel good. The pain in my arms is almost nice. I turn around to stretch the rope that belays James Parson and Harry Styles finally lands among us next to Mona Flemming. I haughtily ignore him, my eyes riveted on James Parson's climb. I think he is talking to me. I am not listening. I won, and that is all that matters.

While the rest of the class is leaving the gymnasium, I bury my face in my towell and wipe off the sweat dripping down my forehead. Callum says he will see me on monday and I nod without a word. I am still exhausted after my climb and I wonder how I will keep on going for the whole training. I did not think. Harry Styles is already stretching and I grab a bungee cord and try as well to slacken the muscles in my arms. It hurts like hell. But I will not show any sign of weakness. I pull like a crazy person on my bungee cord and slowly, my muscles untinghten. The rest of the team gets there little by little and General Cooper starts to move and settle the baskets. He asks Harry Styles to help him and I rush too to give him a hand. My jaw contracts when I reach one of the baskets and my tensed muscles remind me every second I should not be making efforts. Harry Styles is easily progressing through the field. But I am a fighter. I had to show what I can do. He is just an arriviste, he does not even try to get what he wants. And I hate that.

Basket ball is a tidy game. Feelings are excluded. Everything must be calculated, nothing is random. At the begining of our first training, many years ago now, they showed us a video of a basket ball game before the Opening for a least three hours. At any foul, any pulled t-shirt, any violence, even the smallest one, words in capslock would appear on the screen on frozen images. Wrong. Dangerous. Selfish. Childish. At the bottom of the screen, the words « You are the elite of The Nation. You are Unity. You are Whole. » were passing by our eyes. The same words you can find all over St Michael, and on the jumbotrons all over Isis Avenue and the important spots of the Sphere 1. Before the Opening, basket ball was just a game, but we made it better. I strech one last time and join the rest of the team in the middle of the field. When the whistle blows, the choregraphy starts, teams are spreading and we all know what to do, and how to do it. I am in the white team, Harry Styles wears a black t-shirt. Once again, we are ennemies. But for the first time of my day, I leave in a corner of my mind the hatred I feel about him, because I know it would mess my discernment and General Cooper would not forgive that. I do not want to bring shame on my whole team, I do not want to give in to my urges. I have to control everything. One day, I will succeed, for real. Here, like in the rest of my life. I will fight my feelings, I will learn to control my rage. That day, Father will be proud of me. My dreams will stop. And I will be better than the rest of them. I will be better than Harry Styles.


	2. Harry

**Hold on. Live, hold your breath, pretend.** Hold on, hold on for more. Accept that eveyday life to tidy, no surprises, dark shades and sad automatisms. I walk fast. I walk along the boarders wall, that imposing barricade between Spheres 1 and 2, all the way to the customs where they will ask for my papers and I will give that plastic card with four black stripes on it. On this side of the wall, the frontage is white. Buildings are high and glazed, it smells of money, right-thinking aristocracy, all immaculate. Cleanliness and grace. The beautiful and glorious Albion. Father is everywhere, He's protecting us, He's watching us. His portait with strong jawbones, that caucasian forehead, slanting eyes, full lips. Blue eyes, maybe green, with a few hints of brown. Father doesn't exist. Father is the perfect image of the mixed races of our glourious Nation. Why don't they see ? Why can't they understand ? When did man became so blind ? Of course I don't remember it, I got here without asking for anything. But all them, the old ones, the ancients, the one that have been lying to all those generations, why are they so scared ? Why is Father so scared, whatever he is ? I give in my card, they validate it for the second time today. On the screen, my last name, surname, age, blood type, my father's one, and a copy of my fingerprint appear. We are all classified. All in a national inventory. Thousands of human beings, labeled like animals, inventoriated the same way and put away in boxes. Why ? Why do they need to control us that way ? Isn't Father suppose to love and cherish us ? Why does he care if I wanna hang out in another Sphere than mine ? We have our Access Cards anyway and High Sphere never want to come down. Why do they need to follow each citizen like his own shadow ? It's an obssession. Ever since I was old enough to understand someone was watching my every move, I never stop hazzling my father about it until he gave me a good explanation. He never had any. Jill explained it to me. Jill explained loads of things about the Nation, Father, the Milice. And about the Resistance. After a never ending walk in the underground tunnels, I rush into the tube stopping on the platform and notice a soldier in guard duty in a corner of the carriage. Those one have an easy trigger. Just move a little too fast, walk a little too quickly and they'll aim at you. I don't want anything to do with them. I settle quietly on a bench seat, as far away from him as I can and I close my eyes, my hands buried in the pocket of my uniform trousers. That godamn uniform. I can see them, all of them, looking down at my four striped shirt. « Why is that one here ? » they ask themselves. Coming in Sphere 1, with a bad attitude coming all the way from Sphere 4. Not exactly a Ghetto child, but not that far away. The Ghetto is the last 3 Spheres of Albion. For the ones living here, the Ghetto is a nightmare. A bunch of gangster, of retards. For them, those Spheres stinks, are ruins, and we might as well burn them all down with their citizens in them. It would actually be a blessing. If they could read my thoughts... Luckily, they can't. I open one eye and look at the landscape passing by my eyes outside. We're underground, but our Nation's Thinkers' cleverness makes a pretty food illusion. Images change everyday. Landscapes of blazing cities, magnificent military bases, open-sky markets, crowed places with a beautiful fountain in the middle... Those are projections of the most beautiful places in World Nation, tracing the greatness of the richer Spheres. No place for Ghettos, for boorish, for rough. No trash, no garbage, no ruins. Never wildings either, no. Those things don't exist in World Nation.

No... I've never seen the vast green areas, the weat fields and the clear and blue sky above them. I don't know the sea, nor the ice. Snow doesn't look like anything they describe in the books that make me dream, the one I hide preciously in the bottom of the alcove in a corner of my bedroom. In my world, our world, cities are high and we live above one another. Districts are staircases, they overhang each other. My father often says I have a very sad point of you about the world around me. He considers himself lucky to be born here, in Sphere 4, where the Rebels never come and governement leaves us alone. He doesn't mind the soldiers guarding every corners, the grey walls and our tasteless universities. He says I'm the reason he wakes up every morning to go to the office, to this job, that is, even if it's boring, usefull to the Nation, and that I'm a good enough reason. I laugh silently. My father is a good man. I love him for what he is, and I don't mind our diffrences. He does the same. He doesn't know what kind of life I live, and that's better this way, but I know that deep down, he understood a long time ago that I would never accept like he did the fatility of my destiny. Studying in Sphere 1 doesn't change a thing. I'm more rebellious every day, more wounded by those things I don't understand, and the list just gets longer and longer. When I was younger, I was asking him questions. But he's getting old, and I can't wear him out with my curiosity anymore. Even questions about my mom, I kept them to myself. They make him suffer too much.

Train doors open and close again. Once the Sphere 3 is gone, there isn't much people left in this train. Just a few of us travel between those stations. I finally go out of the tube, and once again walk all the way down those never ending tunnels, go back up out, set free, or almost. Above my head there's no sky. Just another floor, with another floor above it, and again and again for six other floors. I keep on walking, my feet hits the tarmac of Sphere 4. Nothing like the smooth and clean ground of Sphere 1. Nothing like the one, rough and messy, of Sphere 9 either. I cross lightened big streets and climb into one of the vast elevators that goes all the way up. When I reach the third floor, about four meters above the ground, I get out and walk down a commercial alley. A press the button of the automatic doors and enter the hallway of my building. Here, there's no receptionnist, but the premises are clean and regularly looked after. That would amaze that boy from my class, Austin, who thinks he knows and understand everything.

« Dad, I'm home. »

I don't call my dad by his surname. I know it's what most of the people of my age do, like every Nation's citizen. The father is Father. He's eveybody's father, protective and authoritarian. Bullshit. My father is my father, and no one else's. I claim that, and I'm proud of it. I don't have any other father. He often asks me not to call him that, in a pointless attempt to calm down my rebellious thoughts. But I already lost a parent, and as far as I can remember, I never used to word « mom. »

« How was your day ?  
\- What do you think ?  
\- Like all the others I guess.  
\- You guess good. What about you ?  
\- Like the same, over and over again. You're going out tonight ?  
\- …  
\- You should rest.  
\- It's friday.  
\- So ? A real night for once, it can't hurt.  
\- I've got things to do.  
\- You're eating with me ?  
\- Alright. »

My father's tall and under his thick and black eyebrows, his look is fill with few years old weariness. I never saw him very cheerfull. Sometimes he smiles, but it looks painfull. I guess that since my mother died, the moment his spirit is at easy are rare. I never knew what really happened to her and I think I'll never know. For a long time, I thought it was important. That I needed to know. Actually, I think I learned how to live with that kind of hole inside of me. Now, I'm nearly indifferent. My mother's not here anymore, period. It's what I articulate myself when she shows up in my mind. A little too often to my taste, and I do my best to keep her out. We dine quietly. My father doesn't have much to tell me about his working days and I don't want to be all complaining. I wouldn't find any other way to mention my days in St Michael. I should feel ungrateful to think that way but I don't care. If I got there, it's thanks to my results. I know it hurts those middle-class pricks' feeling to think that I'm smarter than their kids, but I am. Too bad. I'm not gonna pretend to be stupid so they can sleep at night. When Jill heard I was entering Sphere 1, she joked about how I could gather informations the day I decide to do illegal stuff that would actually be useful. I answered that I was not going there for fun, but because it was the way it is. I clean off the two meals on a tray that my dad's unity cardss can pay and throw then into the Incinerator.

« Don't you want to watch a movie with me ?  
\- I told you dad, I've got things to do. And their propaganda, no thank you.  
\- We received a new one today, this could be good.  
\- What's the theme ?  
\- History.  
\- Great. I do that all day long in the University. It doesn't change much form a class to another, so I'm doubtful.  
\- I get it... Go hang out.  
\- Sorry dad. »

My dad shrugs and goes back to the living room. I look at him for a couple of seconds before I sight and go up to my room. I slip on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, grab my jacket, my card with 9 stripes on it. In the living room, the television spits and when I go back down quietly, I see my dad's face in the grey light. He seems so tired. I pull up my hoodie and disapear in the night.

His mouth tastes like the beer he just greedily drunk. He seems a bit younger than me, but who knows. I don't even know his name. In the subdued light of the basement, it's not easy to see the craving in his eyes. But the hand he presses against my crotch tells more than any words. The music escaping the headphones as old as the world pulses in my veins. I want to take him, now, here on that table, in the middle of those people pressing against each other to dance. The little bit of humanity left in me keeps me from doing so. I grab the collar of his open shirt and carry him outside in the cold. He giggles and I think he's beautiful. I push him again the wall and sink my tongue in his mouth. My hand slides down to his trousers and he moans against my lips. I grab on his masculinity and lick his neck. This brutality is allowed to me only in this place. If Austin saw me... The chest of my lover rises in a jerky way. I'm jubilating. I open my own old jeans and show him with just one look what I'm expecting from him. He doesn't even hesitate. The boy kneels in front of me and I take his place against the wall covered in graffs. His warm lips warp around me and I let my head fall back against the stone with a sight of pleasure. He's not the first man touching me. Not the first and not the last either. I can't help it, that's the way I am. Father is wrong, and all his sons with him. You don't chose to be or not be that kind of person. I love men, I love their bodies and their sharp figures. I love denoted jawbones, big hands, hairy cheeks and those manly pefume. I love them, and I can't help it. The very first time I stroke the hope of feeling the naked body of a man against mine, it was even before my First Evaluation. But I did it years later, when Jill gave me, as a birthday present, the card that would allow me to come here, in Sphere 9, without that much of a trouble. On this card, my name's Seth Winter, I'm 23 and I do exist in the Nation's archives. Except that Seth Winter, the real one, is dead. I'm very much alive and at this moment, the only thing that matters are those lips going up and down against my sex. Before my pleasure gets at its height, I pull the boy up to my face and kiss him before I push him against the old destroyed armchair about to collapse on the corner. He doesn't protest and I take him right here, taking great delight in his hoarse moan. My moves are getting more intenses, deeper, faster. He hangs onto the armchair, his joints are white and he must be biting his tongue not to scream. On the back of his neck, I can see his tattoo, the ink under his skin like a trophee. Resistance. They are a lot, hanging there. They're looking for the same thing that I do. Comfort. Compagnie. A freedom easier to win than with weapons. A simpler and more evident hope. Tonight, we're the same. He, in the Resistance, and I, Sphere 1 student. All of that doesn't count, not here, not now. I feel the wave of pleasure rising in me and I don't try to calm it down. I come inside him, no hesitations, so shame. His nails scratch the old leather. I lean to kiss his neck and pull out before I pull up my trousers. The boy turns around, put his clothes back on and smiles at me.

« Not so bad for a Sphere 4 kid.  
\- How do you –  
\- The Nation is not the only one watching you, Harry Styles.  
\- …  
\- Don't worry, I'll keep the secret.  
\- Nice.  
\- You never though about... ?  
\- About what ?  
\- Don't be silly. You know what I'm talking about. You'd be a great piece for the Resistance.  
\- I didn't know you distinguish yourself with you dick, in the Resistance.  
\- Not the only way. »

The boy has another kinky smile and I almost want to start it all over again.

« Forget it, I'm not into it.  
\- With your ideas and your ways, you'd be better with us. You could fight for something. Isn't it what you always wanted Harry Styles ?  
\- I want to stay alive, and in six month, you'll be giving you card to another carefree kid like me.  
\- In the meantime, I will have fought for something.  
\- I do that everyday of my life.  
\- Oh yeah, and how ?  
\- It's not because I'll have the best job in Sphere 1 that will change my convictions.  
\- That's not proven.  
\- You don't know me. »

Shit, that prick pissed me off. Why do they always have to be so annoying with their stupid Resistance ? I'm pretty sure Jill send that one, and if she really did, I need a talk with her. I don't belong to anyone, and she won't change my mind by sending me her cute little things to have sex with me. What can they change anyway ? Does Father really feel threaten by a bunch of dirty kids making ridiculous artisanals bombs in the Sphere 9's basements ? Did they ever threatened the Nation, for real ? If they had, they would have been destroyed a look time ago. The Nation has the ability to eradicate all of them, in every corner of World Nation. The Resistance was once glorious, a long time ago, but it became sadly out of date and hasbeen. It makes people laugh more than it scares them.

« Wanna eat something ?  
\- I've got to talk to Jill. Where is she ?  
\- No idea.  
\- Fuck you.  
\- Again ?  
\- Please... Er...  
\- Jack.  
\- Please, Jack.  
\- Nope. »

He lights up a cigarette and gives me a mocking look. Fine. I'll find her on my own. I go back to the bar where bodies are still pressing against each other in the shadow. I sit at the bar and aimelessly order a Golden Dream. The bartender rises an eyebrow, fixes his gaze on me and runs his hand through his long and dirty beard. This is why I like it so much here. People of every gender with wild haircuts, outrageous make-up. Father's will of destroying every notion of originality and personality has failed here. Among all the people that step this ground every evening, some of them will go back to their own Sphere in the morning, will clean their faces, comb back their hair and change their clothes from before the Opening for their simple Nation's workers' uniforms. Some of them will stay here and nobody will come to check what they decided to wear today nor if they plan on going to work. The last ones, very few of them, will go back to the edges of Albion, will reach the forest or what seems like it. They will go home to their makeshift camp if this is really where they live as Jill told me. Maybe Jack will go back under his tent, with the rest of them. Maybe a Man waits for him there. For a few seconds, I think that I wish someone was waiting for me, somewhere. But it doesn't matter. I have no time for my silly dreams. The man behind the bar must have decided that this actually was the code and not an order and nods to the door behind him. What a bitch. She at least could have the decency to hide a little further. When I walk in the the backroom, anger makes my hands shake. I don't like it when people take me for a fool. I hate it when Jill tries to take on me by every way. Going so far as using a cuter boy than the others is pathetic, even for her.

« Jill ! »

My voice trembles with anger. At the end of a dark and dirty corrider, a door is half open and I can hear laugh coming from it. I walk in on the fly. In the room, a pile of dusty cushions and new cardboards are used as sit for Jill and her little crew. A naked light bulb shines in a red glare and gives the place an even weirder atmosphere. Jill looks at me, all smiling, and seems to wait for me to say something. With her frizzy and very short hair, she almost looks like a man. Her muscles are showing under her dark skin. On her naked shoulder, the Resistance tattoo seems to defy me more than her almond-shaped eyes.

« What's wrong with you ?  
\- Evening, honey.  
\- Shut up !  
\- What's up with you ?  
\- The fact that you trying to recruit me no matter what. Is that new ?  
\- Not really, it took a while to organise, actually.  
\- And you really thought I was going to fall for that ?  
\- Nothing to lose if trying.  
\- You're pissing me off, Jill. I told you a thousand times that I don't want to be in you rebellious crap, so let it go.  
\- Such a shame.  
\- Yeah I know, too bad, you said so already ! It's just... It's not me, ok ? It's none of my business.  
\- If you're coming and going here without any troubles, it's your business.  
\- You're blackmailing me ? You want me to go ?  
\- Yeah that's right, Seth, I'm gonna walk up to a solider guarding the place and say « Hey, that dude over there is Harry Styles, Nation's cherished child. You should arrest him to set an exemple. By the way, I'm the Head of Albion's Rebellion, you should arrest me too. »  
\- First, stop calling me that. You've known me since I was three years –  
\- Since you were born.  
\- I seriously doubt that, but whatever. It doesn't change a thing. I know you're not gonna turn me in, but I thought we were friends and you woudn't force me in anyway. »

Jill smiles. A strange and a bit sad smile, and she looks into space with lack-luster eyes. This is it. She's gonna lose herself into a phylosophical mologue about the benefits of mutual aid and the importance of commitment for a cause even if it's not your cause. She pisses me off. I love Jill, I love this place, and all the other places I go to when I leave for the night. But I don't want to lose my life for a cause that is already lost anyway. My father needs me. Once I succeed, I would not be able to change his Sphere, but I could at least give him unities so his life is not so miserable. When I'll be the head of some Nation's administration, I'll do the Access Cards he needs, and he'll come visit me. I'll take him to the best restaurant on the Isis Avenue, and Austin's father can rage all he wants, it won't change a thing. This, will be my victory. I couldn't care less about the rest.

« Drop it with the speeches Jill, I do not give a damn.  
\- I know.  
\- You're not gonna try to convince me ?  
\- No.  
\- Ah. Are you sick ?  
\- No, I got it.  
\- What ?  
\- I got that you're still a bit young to understand.  
\- Fuck you, I'm not a bit young.  
\- It's fine, Harry, I know what you do here. And I know why. You need to change places, fine, keep on going like that for a while. But soon, something will happen and then, you'll have to change.  
\- Shut up, Mrs Clairvoyant, and clean your crystal ball, you're imagining stuff.  
\- I have good reasons to say that. There's so many things you don't know about me yet.  
\- Wooh, Mystery Jill.  
\- Drop it. Come with me. »

She nimbly jumps on her feet and leaves the room without a glance for her friends. She takes my shoulder in a assertive clutch and I follow her, not knowing if I want to or if she makes me. We leave the basement together and I follow her steps, trying not be outdistanced by her never ending legs. She guides me through the dark alleways filled with all kind of garbages until we reach a door in a recess. I know this door by heart. It seems, like most of the one on the street, abandonned. But it's nothing like that. « If you pass that door, you'll see the greatests things ever made. » Jill showed me this place a few weeks before my First Evaluation after she made me promise a thousand time I will never mention it to anyone. Ever. Not even to my dad. I can still remember the feeling of exciment when she pushed the steel door and I saw them for the very first time. The Subversives Pieces. The most beautiful paintings still existing gathered here for those who wished to see them. They were coming from everywhere, were subject to a nerver ending barter and never stayed forever. Jill glances at me, amused, and I follow her in the gallery.

« Hi Karim. Everything's okay ?  
\- Nothing to report. »

I glance at Karim who raises a thomb with bitten nail to Jill. On his dirty with grease lap lays a scraped kalachnikov that still seems efficient. His dark hands wear fingerless leather gloves and handle the weapon with agility. Karim doesn't talk much. They say he spends all his nights here contemplating the paintings and that his tears spatter the concrete floor.

« Is it here yet ?  
\- Yep. Settled and all.  
\- Perfect.  
\- Does the kid know ?  
\- No, it's a surprise. »

My heart starts to race. I may have been angry at Jill a few minutes ago, I know I'm gonna be crazy about her in a few seconds. She walks in front of me, with her straight and slender stature and I can see the muscles moving under her skin. She moves the heavy curtains separating the rooms aside. One last obstacle, one last step, and we're here. The painting is not that big, and the frame has been burned on the top left angle. In places, the paint has been scratched and it's easy to guess the journey has been tough. Yet, the power is untouched. The strengh of the message, the pain on that face, the incedible contrasts. Everything is there, in the right place. The priest beard falling like a waterfall on Atala's red hair, the folds on the sheets covering her wilt nudity, the three crosses, set has a warning, as a threat. And that face, oh god, that pain on the savage's face, his arms contorted around what he's loosing, the despair printed on the youth of his features. The Funeral Of Atala. My eyelids close for a second, and a couple of tears roll down my ecstatic face.


End file.
